


A Study in Pink

by OverlyObsessedFangirl1



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC, Female John Watson, Genderbend, Genderswap, Series Rewrite, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, episode rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 18:40:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15847089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverlyObsessedFangirl1/pseuds/OverlyObsessedFangirl1
Summary: What if John was Jane, but everything else remained the same?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I know that there have been some variations of Sherlock Holmes where Holmes or Watson is female, but I wondered what BBC's Sherlock would be like if Watson was a girl with everything else remaining relatively the same. So this is the late-night result.  
> Unless particularly short, each scene will be one chapter.

“How’s your blog going?” Ella asked.

“Yeah, good.” Jane cleared her throat. “Very good.”

“You haven’t written a word, have you?” Ella asked.

“You just wrote, ‘Still has trust issues,’” Jane said, gesturing at Ella’s notepad.

“And you read my writing upside down,” Ella pointed out. “D’you see what I mean?”

Jane smiled awkwardly.

Ella sighed. “Jane, you’re a soldier, and it’s gonna take you a while to adjust to civilian life; and writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you.”

Jane gazed back at her, her face full of despair. “Nothing happens to me.”

 

* * *

 

_RUSSELL SQUARE PARK._

Jane was limping briskly through the park, leaning heavily on her cane, when she heard a man call out.

“Jane! Jane Watson!”

Jane turned back around as the man stood up from a bench and hurried towards her, smiling.

“Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart’s together,” he said.

“Yes, sorry, yes, Mike.” She took Mike’s offered hand and shook it. “Hello, hi.”

Mike grinned. “Yeah, I know. I got fat!” he chuckled.

“No,” Jane politely disagreed.

“I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at,” Mike stated. “What happened?”

Jane shifted uncomfortably. “I got shot.”

They both looked away, embarrassed.  


A little while later they found themselves sitting side by side on a bench with cheap coffee. Mike looked at Jane worriedly. Oblivious, Jane took a sip then looked across to her old colleague.

“Are you still at Bart’s, then?” she asked.

Mike nodded. “Teaching now. Bright young things, like we used to be. God, I hate them!”

They both laughed.

“What about you?” Mike replied. “Just staying in town ’til you get yourself sorted?”

Jane shook her head. “I can’t afford London on an Army pension.”

“Ah, and you couldn’t bear to be anywhere else,” Mike teased. “That’s not the Jane Watson I know.”

“Yeah, I’m not the Jane Watson...” She trailed off.

Mike awkwardly looked away and sipped his coffee. Jane switched her own cup to her right hand and looked down at her left hand, clenching it into a fist as she tried to control the tremor that had started. Mike looked round at her again.

“Couldn’t Harry help?” he suggested.

“Yeah, like that’s gonna happen!” Jane said sarcastically.

Mike shrugged. “I dunno – get a flatshare or something?”

“Come on – who’d want me for a flatmate?” Jane protested.

Mike chuckled thoughtfully.

“What?” Jane asked.

“Well, you’re the second person to say that to me today,” Mike said, smiling.

Jane stared at him. “Who was the first?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Transcript by [Ariane DeVere](https://arianedevere.livejournal.com/) and can be found [here](https://arianedevere.livejournal.com/43794.html)


	2. Chapter 2

Mike knocked as he entered Bart’s lab. A man inside glanced across at them briefly before going back to his work, using a pipette to squeeze a few drops of something onto a petri dish. Jane limped into the room, looking around at all the equipment.

“Well, bit different from my day.”

Mike chuckled, “You’ve no idea!”

“Mike, can I borrow your phone?” the man interrupted, sitting down at a microscope. “There’s no signal on mine.”

“And what’s wrong with the landline?” Mike asked.

The man didn’t look up as he responded. “I prefer to text.”

Mike shrugged. “Sorry. It’s in my coat.”

“Er, here. Use mine,” Jane offered, pulling hers out.

“Oh. Thank you.” The man glanced at Mike questioningly as he stood up and walked over.

“It’s an old friend of mine, Jane Watson,” Mike introduced.

The man reached Jane and took her phone. Turning partially away from her, he flipped open the keypad and started to type.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” he asked suddenly.

Jane frowned. Nearby, Mike smiled knowingly.

“Sorry?” Jane looked at the man as he continued to type.

“Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?” He briefly raised his eyes to Jane’s before looking back to the phone. Jane hesitated, then looked across to Mike, confused. Mike just smirked.

“Afghanistan,” she said slowly. “Sorry, how did you know...?”

The man looks up as a doctor came into the room holding a mug of coffee. “Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you.”

He shut down Jane’s phone and handed it back while Molly brought the mug over to him. He took it and peered closely at her.

“What happened to the lipstick?”

Molly smiled awkwardly at him. “It wasn’t working for me.”

“Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth’s too small now,” he said, effectively dismissing her and going back to his station, taking a sip from the mug and grimacing at the taste as he turned his attention to his laptop.

Molly blinked. “Okay.” She turned to leave, slightly perplexed.  

“How do you feel about the violin?” the man asked.

Jane looked round at Molly but she was halfway out the door. She glanced at Mike who is still smiling smugly, before realizing that the man was talking to her.

“I’m sorry, what?”

The man continued typing as he spoke. “I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end.” He looked over at Jane. “Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.” He threw a smile at Jane, who looked at him blankly before looking back to Mike.

“Oh, you ... you told him about me?” she asked.

Mike shook his head. “Not a word.”

Jane turned to the man again. “Then who said anything about flatmates?”

“I did,” he said, standing up and pulling a trenchcoat on. “Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t that difficult a leap.”

“How _did_ you know about Afghanistan?” Jane wondered.

The man ignored the question, instead wrapping his scarf around his neck and picking up his mobile before continuing as if Jane hadn’t spoken.

“Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it.”

He headed to the door. “We’ll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o’clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.”

Jane just stared at him. “Is that it?”

The man turned from the door and strolled back to Jane. “Is that what?”

“We’ve only just met and we’re gonna go and look at a flat?”

The man cocked his head. “Problem?”

Jane smiled in disbelief, glancing across to Mike for help, but her friend just continued to smile as he enjoyed the scene before him. Jane looked back to the other man.

“We don’t know a thing about each other; I don’t know where we’re meeting; I don’t even know your name.”

The man looked closely at her for a moment before speaking.

“I know you’re an Army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him – possibly because he’s an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp’s psychosomatic – quite correctly, I’m afraid.”

Jane glanced down at her leg and cane and shuffled her feet awkwardly.

“That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?” the man asked smugly.  
He went to the door again, but then leaned back into the room.

“The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street.” He winked and called back over his shoulder, “Afternoon!”

Mike raised a finger in farewell as Sherlock disappeared from the room. As the door slammed shut behind him, Jane spun and looked at Mike in disbelief. Mike smiled and nodded to her.

“Yeah. He’s always like that."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Transcript by [Ariane DeVere](https://arianedevere.livejournal.com/) and can be found [here](https://arianedevere.livejournal.com/43794.html)


	3. Chapter 3

Sitting down on her bed, Jane took out her mobile phone and flicked through the menu to find Messages Sent. The last message read:

 _If brother has green ladder_  
arrest brother.  
SH

Puzzled, Jane looked at the message for a long moment, then looked across to the table where her laptop was lying. She pushed herself to her feet and walked over to the table. She called up a search website and typed “Sherlock Holmes” into the search box.

* * *

_BAKER STREET_

Jane limped along the road and reached the door marked 221B just as a black cab pulled up at the curb behind her. Jane knocked on the door as Sherlock got out of the cab.

“Hello,” he greeted.

He reached in through the window of the cab and handed some money to the driver. “Thank you.”

Jane turned towards him as he walked over. “Ah, Mr. Holmes.”

“Sherlock, please,” he insisted as they shook hands.

“Well, this is a prime spot,” Jane noted. “Must be expensive.”

“Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she’s giving me a special deal. Owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out,” Sherlock explained.

“Sorry – you stopped her husband being executed?” Jane asked surprised.

“Oh no. I ensured it.” He smiled at Jane as the front door was opened by who Jane assumed was Mrs. Hudson, who opened her arms.

“Sherlock, hello,” she said warmly.

Sherlock turned and walked into her arms, hugged her briefly, then stepped back and presented Jane to her.

“Mrs. Hudson, Doctor Jane Watson."

Mrs. Hudson smiled at Jane. “Hello.”

“How do?” Jane greeted.

Mrs. Hudson gestured Jane inside. “Come in.”

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah,” Mrs. Hudson agreed.

The two went inside and Mrs. Hudson closed the door. Sherlock trotted up the stairs to the first-floor landing, then paused and waited for Jane to hobble upstairs. As Jane reached the top of the stairs, Sherlock opened the door ahead of her and walked in, revealing the living room of the flat. Jane followed him in and looked around the room and at all the possessions and boxes scattered around it.

“Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed,” Jane observed.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely.”

He looked around the flat happily, continuing, “So I went straight ahead and moved in,” just as Jane said, “Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out.”

“Oh,” Jane paused, embarrassed, when she realized what Sherlock was saying. “So, this is all...”

“Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit.”

Sherlock walked across the room and made a half-hearted attempt to tidy up a little, throwing a couple of folders into a box and then taking some unopened envelopes across to the fireplace where he put them onto the mantelpiece and then stabbed a knife into them. Jane noticed something else on the mantelpiece and lifted her cane to point at it.

“That’s a skull.”

Sherlock turned to look where she was pointing. “Friend of mine. When I say ‘friend’...”

Mrs. Hudson followed them into the room. She picked up a cup and saucer while Sherlock took off his greatcoat and scarf.

“What do you think, then, Doctor Watson?” She asked. “There’s another bedroom upstairs if you’ll be needing two bedrooms.”

Jane hurried to correct her assumptions. “Of course we’ll be needing two.”

Jane looked across to Sherlock, expecting him to confirm that he and Jane are not involved in that way but Sherlock appeared oblivious to what was being insinuated. Mrs. Hudson walked across to the kitchen, then turned back and frowned at Sherlock.

“Oh, Sherlock. The mess you’ve made,” she scolded.

She went into the kitchen and started tidying up, and Jane walked over to one of the two armchairs, plumped up a cushion on the chair and then dropped heavily down into it before looking over at Sherlock who was still tidying up a little.

“I looked you up on the internet last night,” she informed him.

Sherlock turned back to her. “Anything interesting?”

“Found your website,” Jane said. “The Science of Deduction.”

Sherlock smiled proudly. “What did you think?”

Jane threw him a _you have got to be kidding me_ look. Sherlock looked hurt.

“You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb?” she asked skeptically.

“Yes, and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother’s drinking habits in your mobile phone.”

“How?”

Sherlock smiled and turned away. Mrs. Hudson came out of the kitchen reading a newspaper.

“What about these suicides then, Sherlock?” She asked. “I thought that’d be right up your street. Three exactly the same.”

Sherlock walked over to the window of the living room at the sound of a car pulling up outside.

“Four,” he corrected, looking down at the street. “There’s been a fourth. And there’s something different this time.”

Mrs. Hudson looked at him. “A fourth?”

Sherlock turned as someone trotted up the stairs and came into the living room.

“Where?” Sherlock demanded.

“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens,” the newcomer answered.

“What’s new about this one?” Sherlock continued sharply. “You wouldn’t have come to get me if there wasn’t something different.”

The man, who Jane guessed was an officer of some sort, seemed unsurprised at his attitude. “You know how they never leave notes?”

“Yeah.”

“This one did. Will you come?”

Sherlock pondered for a moment. “Who’s on forensics?”

The officer hesitated. “It’s Anderson.”

Sherlock grimaced. “Anderson won’t work with me.”

“Well, he won’t be your assistant,” the officer assured him.

“I _need_ an assistant,” Sherlock protested.

“Will you come?”

“Not in a police car. I’ll be right behind,” Sherlock agreed.

“Thank you.”

The man looked around at Jane and Mrs. Hudson, then turned and hurried off down the stairs.

Sherlock waited until he had reached the front door, then leapt into the air and clenched his fists triumphantly before twirling around the room happily.

“Brilliant!” He exclaimed. “Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it’s Christmas!”

He picked up his scarf and coat and started to put them on while he headed for the kitchen.

“Mrs. Hudson, I’ll be late,” he stated. “Might need some food.”

“I’m your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper,” the little old lady told him.

Sherlock continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “Something cold will do. Jane, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don’t wait up!”

Grabbing a small leather pouch from the kitchen table, he opened the kitchen door and disappeared from view. Mrs. Hudson turned back to Jane.

“Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same.”

Jane grimaced at the repeated implication that she and Sherlock were an item.

“But you’re more the sitting-down type, I can tell. I’ll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg,” she continued, turning to the door.

“ _Damn_ my leg!” Jane cursed, loudly.

Her response was instinctive, and she immediately regretted it as Mrs. Hudson turned back to her in shock.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry. It’s just sometimes this bloody thing...” Jane smacked her leg with her cane.

Mrs. Hudson nodded sympathetically. “I understand, dear, I’ve got a hip.”

She turned towards the door again.

“Cup of tea’d be lovely, thank you,” Jane said.

“Just this once, dear. I’m not your housekeeper.”

“Couple of biscuits too, if you’ve got ’em.”

“Not your housekeeper!” Mrs. Hudson called back, descending the stairs.

Jane picked up the newspaper which Mrs. Hudson put down and looked at the article reporting Beth Davenport’s apparent suicide. Next to a large photograph of Beth was a smaller one showing the man who just visited the flat and identifying him as D.I. Lestrade. Before she could read on, Sherlock’s voice interrupted her. Jane looked up and saw him standing in the doorway.

“You’re a doctor,” he stated. “In fact, you’re an Army doctor.”

“Yes.” Jane got to her feet and turned towards Sherlock as he came back into the room again.

“Any good?” He asked, pulling on a leather glove.

Jane gave a curt nod. “ _Very_ good.”

“Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths.” Sherlock pulled on his other glove.

“Mmm, yes.”

“Bit of trouble too, I bet.”

“Of course, yes,” Jane responded quietly. “Enough for a lifetime. Far too much.”

Something glinted in Sherlock’s eyes. “Want to see some more?”

“Oh _God_ , yes.”

Sherlock spun on his heel and lead Jane out of the room and down the stairs.

“Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I’ll skip the tea,” Jane called out as she followed him down. “Off out.”

Mrs. Hudson stood near the bottom of the stairs. “Both of you?”

Sherlock had almost reached the front door, but now he turned and walked back towards her.

“Impossible suicides? Four of them? There’s no point sitting at home when there’s finally something fun going on!”

He took her by the shoulders and kissed her noisily on the cheek.

Mrs. Hudson gently slapped him. “Look at you, all happy. It’s not decent.”

She couldn’t help but smile, though, as he turned away and headed for the front door again.

“Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Transcript by [Ariane DeVere](https://arianedevere.livejournal.com/) and can be found [here](https://arianedevere.livejournal.com/43794.html)

**Author's Note:**

> So depending on how this goes I might do more episodes. Let me know what you think.
> 
> Transcript by [Ariane DeVere](https://arianedevere.livejournal.com/) and can be found [here](https://arianedevere.livejournal.com/43794.html)


End file.
